Chapter 52
Torch carried Rachel across the gravel lot toward the SUVs, her weight cradled against his chest.
Predator flanked them, rifle low, eyes scanning the perimeter. Carver limped beside them, one hand clamped to his bleeding shoulder.
A single shot cracked from inside the warehouse.
Rachel closed her eyes briefly and breathed out through her nose.
Langley was dead.
It was over.
Torch's arms tightened around her slightly, a silent acknowledgment. He kept walking.
They reached the SUV. Torch carefully set Rachel on her feet beside the open door, his hands staying on her waist until he was sure her legs would hold.
Carver was already climbing into the back seat, his face pale and gray in the dim light. Blood had dried dark across his arm and jaw.
Rachel stood outside the open door, Ghost's shirt hanging to mid-thigh. Her arms crossed over her ribs, fingers pressing against the tender spots where bruises were forming.
She turned toward the warehouse entrance. He would come through it. She knew that. But part of her still listened for the wrong sound, boots that weren't his, a voice she didn't recognize.
She needed to see him.
Bear stepped up beside her without a word. He set the med kit on the SUV's roof and unzipped it in one smooth motion.
Rachel stayed quiet. Her gaze locked on the warehouse entrance, her shoulders tight. Her hand moved to her ribs again, fingers curling protectively against the bruised bone.
Bear caught the gesture. His eyes moved to her hairline where blood had dried in a thin line down her temple. He pulled a cloth from the kit, dampened it with antiseptic that smelled sharp and medicinal, and reached up carefully.
"Let me see," he said, then cleaned along her skin with steady hands.
Rachel flinched once at the sting, cold and burning at the same time, then held still.
"You holding it together?" he asked.
She kept her eyes forward on that dark doorway. "Trying."
Bear gave a small nod and grabbed a fresh cloth, this one for her wrists.
After a moment, she glanced up at him. "You always this gentle?"
He exhaled hard, almost a laugh. "Don't spread it around."
Rachel didn't smile, but her jaw relaxed slightly.
Behind them, Torch paced the back lot with his weapon cradled loosely. Reaper stood near the warehouse entrance, motionless, watching the dark interior. Predator and Brick swept the perimeter one last time.
Bear reached out and squeezed her shoulder once, brief and firm.
Then the door opened.
Ghost stepped out into the night air, alone.
Rachel stopped breathing.
Blood streaked his hands, knuckles split and raw.
Red smeared up his forearms in lines that had dripped and dried.
More blood marked his bare chest where it had splattered, dots and streaks that had started to crust over.
His shoulders were squared, his movements controlled, but his whole frame looked wound too tight.
His eyes found hers the moment he cleared the threshold.
"Rogue'll be a minute," Ghost said. His voice came out flat. "Frost is helping with the body."
Torch and Predator nodded.
Ghost crossed the space between them, his stride eating up distance. His eyes never left hers.
Then he reached her.
His hands came up to frame her face, thumbs brushing along her cheekbones. His palms were rough, still tacky with blood that hadn't fully dried, but his touch was gentle.
Rachel's hands came up to grip his wrists. Her eyes tracked over the blood on his hands, his forearms, his chest. "Are you okay?"
"Am I—" Ghost's voice caught. "Baby, I'm fine. I'm worried about you.”
"But you're covered in blood."
"Not mine." His thumbs traced along her cheekbones, slow and deliberate. "Most of it's not mine."
Rachel nodded. Her fingers tightened on his wrists. She could feel his pulse there, still racing.
"It's done," Ghost said, his voice low. "He's gone. He can't hurt you. Can't touch you. Ever again."
"I know." She did know. Had known the moment she heard that single shot. "I heard."
His forehead dropped to hers. His breath came uneven against her face, hot and ragged. "I need you to tell me you're okay. That I got here in time.:
"I'm okay," Rachel whispered. "I'm here. I'm standing. I'm—" Her voice wavered. "I'm okay because you came."
"Always." His hand slid up to cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. "I will always come.”
Rachel's eyes stung. She blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. Not yet. Not here. "I knew you would."
His arms came around her then, pulling her in close. He needed her against him, needed proof she was real and whole and here. His face buried in her hair. She felt him shake, just once, a full-body tremor he couldn't quite control.
Rachel wrapped her arms around his neck and held on. Her face pressed into his bare chest. His pulse hammered beneath her cheek, too fast, irregular. He smelled like blood and sweat and gunpowder, but underneath that was just him. Soap and skin and safety.
Ghost's other arm locked around her waist, holding her so tightly her bruised ribs protested. But she didn't care. She needed this. Needed him.
They stood like that. The team moved around them with quiet efficiency, giving them space.
Finally, Ghost pulled back just enough to see her face. His hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing gently over the bruise forming there, purple and tender.
Then he kissed her.
Soft at first. His lips moving against hers carefully, like he was confirming she was real. But then the kiss deepened. His hand tightened in her hair. His arm around her waist pulled her closer. The kiss turned urgent, claiming, a physical promise that they were both here and whole and together.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. His breath came fast and uneven, warming her face. "Let's get you home."
Rachel nodded against him. "Yeah. Let's go home."
Behind them, Rogue and Frost emerged from the warehouse, moving with purpose toward the vehicles. The team began loading up.
Ghost's hand found Rachel's, fingers lacing through hers. "Come on, baby."
Frost, Echo, Bear, Rogue, and Predator moved to the first SUV. Bear took the wheel, the others filing in around him.
Torch headed for the second SUV, Brick already claiming the passenger seat. Reaper was helping Carver into the third row, supporting his injured arm carefully.
Ghost guided Rachel to the second vehicle and opened the back door. But instead of letting her slide in first, he climbed in first, then reached for her.
His hands closed around her waist and he pulled her into his lap, settling her against his chest. One arm wrapped around her waist, anchoring her to him. The other hand came up to rest against her ribs, careful of the bruises but needing the contact.
Rachel didn't protest. She leaned into him, letting his warmth seep into her cold skin. Her head found the hollow of his shoulder, her hand resting against his chest where his heartbeat still hammered too fast.
"Logan," she murmured. "I can sit—"
"No," he said. His arm tightened around her. "You stay right here."
He couldn't let her go. Couldn't put any distance between them. Not yet. Maybe not for a long time.
Rachel's fingers curled into his chest, holding on. "Okay."
The door closed. Torch started the engine. The convoy began to move, gravel crunching beneath the tires.
Ghost's hand moved in slow circles against her back, the same rhythm from before. His face pressed into her hair, breathing her in.